


Bound to Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Foursome, Light Bondage, M/M, wow where the hell did this even come from?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> When Grantaire bought that whole box of ropes and binds and handcuffs, he wasn’t really intending on them being used like this.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He doesn’t mind, of course, because there’s nothing like being tied back to back with one of your boyfriends, but this stuff really wasn’t for him.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He smirks up at Enjolras and Combeferre, leaning his head against Courfeyrac’s so their curls tangle together in a messy mop. Courfeyrac relaxes into the contact and laughs, shaking both of them with the gleeful release. Enjolras obviously likes to show off his Boy Scouts training, because they’re shirtless and joined from the wrists to the elbows, at the shoulders, and even around the hips. The bonds are tight enough to tug, but not tight enough to hurt, so Grantaire just relishes the feeling of Courfeyrac’s bare skin against his and links their fingers together. </i>
</p>
<p>Grantaire doesn't mind being tied to Courfeyrac, even if Combeferre must have found his stash of surprise sex toys in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound to Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much shameless foursome PWP. I don’t usually write stuff like this, but the urge was overwhelming, so here you have it! Light bondage and sex toys included xD Blame Leah for planting this ship in my head. Enjoy!

When Grantaire bought that whole box of ropes and binds and handcuffs, he wasn’t really intending on them being used like this.

He doesn’t mind, of course, because there’s nothing like being tied back to back with one of your boyfriends, but this stuff really wasn’t  _for_ him.

He smirks up at Enjolras and Combeferre, leaning his head against Courfeyrac’s so their curls tangle together in a messy mop. Courfeyrac relaxes into the contact and laughs, shaking both of them with the gleeful release. Enjolras obviously likes to show off his Boy Scouts training, because they’re shirtless and joined from the wrists to the elbows, at the shoulders, and even around the hips. The bonds are tight enough to tug, but not tight enough to hurt, so Grantaire just relishes the feeling of Courfeyrac’s bare skin against his and links their fingers together.

"You know," he says hoarsely as he uncrosses his legs to show them that they’ve clearly won and that he’s harder than he’s been in a while. He’s going to kill them for not taking his jeans with his shirt. “These things were supposed to be for you two during finals weeks.”

Combeferre fixes his glasses, grinning widely. “We know.”

“They’re supposed to be stress relievers,” Courfeyrac chimes in. He’s trying to twist around to see the boys, but it’s impossible unless Grantaire also shifts sideways, so Grantaire can just feel the ripples of muscle as he squirms. “But I approve of your innovation.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says proudly. He’s wearing his most diplomatic expression, the one that means someone is going to suffer, and Grantaire  _really_ hopes it’ll be him. “We put a lot of thought into it.”

Grantaire wants to tear the formality out of Enjolras’s speech with his teeth, but it doesn’t seem like his mouth is getting anywhere near him at the moment, so he settles for a letting a lingering gaze fall on Enjolras’s crotch. “Which head did the thinking?”

He sneaks a peek at Enjolras’s face just in time to see his cheeks flush a soft pink.

Courfeyrac sniggers behind him and squeezes his hand. “Nice,” he praises. “Now, can we appreciate the fruits of your mental labor? Just saying.” He shifts a little bit and pulls Grantaire along with him. “Getting a little antsy over here.”

Combeferre walks around the pair slowly, his footfalls muffled against the carpet but still torturous as he disappears from Grantaire’s view. Courfeyrac’s breathe hitches and Combeferre reaches around him to trace his thumb down the curve of Grantaire’s neck. He shivers violently as the nail drags against his skin, eliciting a quiet moan from Courfeyrac in the process. The ties are digging into his arms now as he squirms and tries to get free, tries to touch someone, anyone, and there’s Enjolras, just standing off to the side and smiling like Christmas came early.

These bonds are going to be put to very good use as soon as Grantaire gets out of them. He is going to  _torture_ that fucker until he second guesses using Grantaire’s own toys against him ever again.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre says, still stroking Grantaire with those light, feathery, barely-there touches, still doing  _something_ to Courfeyrac that must certainly be good, because Courfeyrac hasn’t stopped making those little noises that are going to drive Grantaire mad. He’s pretty sure their hands are bruised black and blue from the grip they’ve both been clinging on with, as if this tangle of fingers is the only thing keeping them on Earth. “Why don’t you take Courfeyrac for a little while?”

Enjolras shrugs noncommittally. “I kind of like watching.”

“ _Enjolras,"_  Courfeyrac whines and digs his nails into Grantaire’s hand.

Grantaire yelps and glares at Enjolras. “You know, I need my hand to do important things,” he reminds him. His voice is surprisingly level, if a little lower than usual, but he hasn’t been under Combeferre’s direct ministrations yet, so there’s hope yet. “Like cook. And draw. And kickbox.” Enjolras raises an eyebrow in an elegant arch, but doesn’t do anything except settle his eyes on Courfeyrac’s writhing body. Grantaire is jerked suddenly when Courfeyrac tries and fails to arch toward Combeferre. “And give you handjobs,” he adds breathlessly.

Enjolras considers this for a moment, gnawing on his bottom lip and flicking his gaze between all three of them on the floor. “Okay,” he finally agrees and strides purposefully out of Grantaire’s view to Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac lets out a particularly filthy sounding groan that makes Grantaire’s blood boil with jealousy.

“Hey!” Grantaire complains. “What about me?”

Courfeyrac tips his head backward, resting his sweaty cheek against Grantaire’s. “Yeah,” he gasps out. “What about R?”

There’s a pause, complete silence, heavy with lust and want and  _god_ , Grantaire is going to kill all three of them at this point. He can feel sweat drip down his back, down Courfeyrac’s back, and he is so hard that there are tears springing in the corners of his eyes, but nobody makes any move toward him.  _So. Not. Fair._

“What do you think, ‘Ferre?” Enjolras asks conversationally, shattering that awful silence with his sweet voice that can turn words into melodies. “Shouldn’t he enjoy his toys properly?”

Combeferre’s voice is less musical, but no less comforting. It feels like the pull of a tide over rocks. “Maybe we’re being cruel,” he says, and Grantaire can practically  _see_ him cock his head to the side as he pores over his options.

“Maybe,” Enjolras agrees.

“But maybe we’re not being cruel enough,” Combeferre continues. He hums in thought. “I think I should remedy that.”

Before Grantaire can draw a breath, Courfeyrac is kneeling in front of him, leaning over to trace his lips with his awful light touch, teasing Grantaire with just the pads of his fingers. He presses himself closer until Grantaire can feel his hot breath on his neck, on his ear, and it’s definitely getting harder to breathe.  “Are you angry with us?” Combeferre whispers and nips on the spot right behind Grantaire’s ear.

Grantaire chokes. “Yes,” he says, but it’s without any conviction, because Combeferre is running his hands down Grantaire’s chest, outlining his heart, his lungs, his ribs with his thumb, and Courfeyrac is still wriggling and groaning under Enjolras’s supervision, and Grantaire thinks that next time they’re going to tie just him down and see if they can make him not move at all, and then he can’t think at all because Combeferre is kissing him.

It’s a short kiss, barely any pressure or passion behind it at all, but Grantaire attempts to lurch forward into it regardless. Enjolras reaches around Courfeyrac to grab his shoulders and pull him back, keep him still, and the Combeferre is snaking his hands around Grantaire so he can take Courfeyrac by the waist and do the same.

“ _Shit_ ," Courfeyrac and Grantaire moan at the same time. They need to tie the boys up a lot more often if this is the revenge they’re going to take. They’re pressed together, sharing breaths, gasps, and moans alike, and Enjolras’s hands feel hot against Grantaire’s skin, and Combeferre’s lips fiery as they make patterns on his jaw, his chest, his throat, and if he comes in his pants, he swears he’s going to make Combeferre do laundry for a week.

“I hate you,” he declares as Combeferre presses a long kiss to his hip and pulls one hand away from Courfeyrac to press his palm against Grantaire’s crotch. The pressure makes Grantaire dizzy, a little giddy, and he’s not sure he’s breathing correctly anymore but it doesn’t really matter, because Combeferre  _finally_ unzips his jeans and Grantaire nearly cries in relief.

“Not fair!” Courfeyrac thrusts a few times in Enjolras’s direction. “Me too.”

“Hush,” Enjolras says and laughs, his grip on Grantaire tightening until he’s sure there will be bruises. Courfeyrac moans again, his annoyance apparently gone with whatever Enjolras is doing to him. “Trust me, you don’t want what we’re doing to Grantaire.”

Grantaire narrows his eyes as Combeferre reaches into his back pocket for a little red ring. He doesn’t get a good look at it before Combeferre tugs away his boxers and slips it down his cock so it sits tightly at the base, warm from Combeferre’s lingering body heat, Grantaire knows it’s his because he hid it in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet last night. It’s bumpy, even a little uncomfortable, but he forgets about that almost immediately because the next thing Combeferre does is pull his boxers back up and zip up his jeans.

Grantaire hisses – it hurts even more now – and glares, hoping that lust hasn’t sucked all the venom out of his eyes. “I really hate you,” he says again. He can feel the ring, heavy and snug around his cock and he’s already decided that he’s going to put aphrodisiac or something in their coffee tomorrow morning.

Combeferre laughs, his eyes sparking wickedly behind his glasses as he sits back on his heels and wipes his hands on a towel he had left nearby before this all started. He mops at the sweat on his forehead and neck slowly, chuckling all the while. “Enjolras, did you rent that movie?”

Courfeyrac whines as Enjolras pulls away from both of them. “I got three.”

Combeferre’s grin is as wicked as his eyes, and Grantaire wonders how anyone ever thought this man was a kind one. “Perfect.” From that same pocket, he reveals a little remote, the same garish red as the ring, and stands up, brushing off his pants and holding out a hand for Enjolras. “Coming?”

Enjolras joins him a second later. They both look perfectly put together, as if they hadn’t just almost-ravished their tied up boyfriends on the floor of their bedroom. Every hair in place, ever piece of clothing unwrinkled  - it’s somewhat incredible. “Definitely. Courfeyrac?” he calls out, concern leaking into his tone. It’s soft and gentle and barely there, but Grantaire can pick up on it. “Safe word?”

“No fucking way,” Courfeyrac says, squirming. “What the hell did you guys do to R? This is so not fair.”

Enjolras ignores him, turning his gaze onto Grantaire. “Grantaire?” he says softly. “Safe word?”

Grantaire snorts, eying the remote in Combeferre’s hand with trepidation and curiosity. “Like fuck am I giving you the safe word now.”

Combeferre smirks at Enjolras. “Told you they’d like it,” he mutters, then waves cheerily as he walks to the door. “We’ll be back after our movies. Yell if you need something.”

“Or don’t,” Enjolras adds with a shrug, following him, and the door shuts behind them, leaving Grantaire and Courfeyrac to nothing but their own breathing and heat.

“They put a vibrator on you, didn’t they?” Courfeyrac eventually asks with a resigned sigh.

Grantaire looks mournfully at the door just as the ring starts to buzz and send sweet, terrible shudders through his entire body. “Yeah.”

“Lucky bastard.” Courfeyrac tilts his head back and manages to press a kiss to Grantaire’s cheek. “Best idea  _ever_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Erm. Well, that's that! Hope you liked it!


End file.
